Granola on cheesecake? Yes, please.

The cheesecake upgrade you didn’t know you needed

The Bite subscribers can now join the conversation — click the speech bubble icon to leave a comment or click the heart to like this post. This month, we began a new series about seasonal, weeknight baking starting with this triple apple snacking cake. This week, we’re exploring more of fall’s best produce. Let’s dive in!

The older I get, the more I think the ideal birthday isn’t a rager or a bucket-list trip but a day that feels like how you’d like the rest of your year to feel. A soft-focus “new year, new me,” without the punitive self-improvement vibes that January tends to summon.

This Tuesday was my birthday, and it was, somehow, exactly that. I woke up to iced coffee on the patio — in October, no less — and prepped for an interview with Cassandra Peterson, a.k.a. Elvira, about her new gothic entertaining book. (Her advice for reviving a dying party? “Get everyone naked.” Reader, I took notes.) Then my boyfriend and I dashed to a 2:15 lunch reservation at Le Bouchon, a French restaurant we talk about going to more often than we actually do.

It feels exactly how you want a neighborhood French spot to feel: tin ceilings, butter-yellow walls, a dark wooden bar lined with regulars, some contemporary art depicting people drinking, brooding, smoking. It’s always pleasantly full, but never chaotic — a low hum of conversation, the clink of glassware, a faint echo of Edith Piaf from the speakers. Butter melting into sauce. Cheese stretching from the top of the onion soup. A yolk giving way under the edge of a knife.

We’ll pass it while driving and say, “Oh, Le Bouchon. Love that place!” But somewhere along the way, it became a restaurant reserved for special occasions (or at least after dark) — the culinary equivalent of buying a fabulous vintage coat and then letting it languish in the back of your closet, waiting for a moment grand enough to deserve it.

We ordered what I consider to be the perfect lunch: mussels poached in white wine and herbs, slices of crusty country loaf griddled in olive oil, and a plate of frites with aioli. It’s big enough for two and feels wildly indulgent without being heavy, exactly the balance I crave lately.

Maybe it’s because I came up in newsrooms where “lunch” meant eating at your desk (if not just another iced coffee), but even now, working from home, I catch myself treating meals as something to be rushed. Sitting down to an unhurried lunch — in the middle of a weekday, no less — felt almost rebellious.

Adult birthdays are strange that way. Increasingly, I think the best ones aren’t about reinvention or spectacle, but about rehearsal, a quiet preview of the life you want to keep practicing. This year, mine felt like an invitation to celebrate the small things: my mom adopting a new puppy; my best friend starting a new school year as a teacher; a decadent lunch on a beautiful fall Tuesday afternoon. This time, there was an occasion. Next time, it’ll be just because.

Food, of course, is one of the main ways I celebrate, big or small. As Bite readers know, we’ve been in the midst of a cozy little series on weeknight, seasonal baking. I’ve loved the recipes so far — a triple apple snacking cake, those fig jam hand pies — because they’re the kind of sweets that can happen on a Tuesday. They make room for impromptu joy: a good mood, a nice email, the fact that you finally changed the sheets. 

That’s also true for this week’s recipe: a no-bake cheesecake with a ginger-pear filling, finished with a generous layer of granola. The idea came from dinner at Le Bouchon, where they serve a winter cheesecake with stewed fruit and — yes — granola. It was textural heaven.

Now, I’ve always been a texture obsessive when it comes to savory food. Give me a salad with croutons, crunchy chickpeas, and crushed potato chips. A soup that requires both crusty bread and crackers. Pasta that insists on its crispy topping of breadcrumbs or frico or toasted nuts. It’s not just a preference—it’s practically a belief system.

And while cheesecake usually gets its crunch from a graham cracker or shortbread crust, granola—with its sweet, nutty clusters—brings something new to the party. It’s richer, more confident, the kind of topping that makes you stop mid-bite and murmur, half to yourself, why is this so good?

Let’s break it down.

Crust

One of the quiet joys of a no-bake cheesecake is how forgiving the crust can be. Graham crackers, Biscoff, Nilla Wafer — anything that can be blitzed into buttery crumbs will do. My forever favorite, though, is Walker’s shortbread: the kind that crumbles with a sigh when you press your thumb into it. Whatever you use, it should be something that tastes good with a little salt and melted butter, the way all great foundations do.

Cheesecake

For the filling, I like to keep things classic and a touch tangy: cream cheese whisked with sour cream until smooth and glossy, sweetened just enough with powdered sugar. A drizzle of honey, if you’re feeling a little pastoral, adds a golden warmth that powdered sugar alone can’t quite reach. And a bit of lemon zest—the punctuation mark that makes everything else sing.

Fruit

Here’s where the season takes the lead. In fall, that means pears — Bosc, Anjou, Bartlett — all sturdy and aromatic, the kind that hold their shape even after a gentle simmer. I cook them down with minced crystallized ginger (or ground, if that’s what you’ve got), a touch of sugar and a squeeze of lemon until they turn jammy and fragrant, like the memory of a mulled wine. If you have half an hour, let it thicken naturally into a quick jam. If you don’t, a tiny cornstarch slurry will bring it together in minutes.

And a little secret: on weeknights when I want something decadent now, I swap in a really good orange marmalade. It’s bright, a little bitter, and no one ever suspects a thing.

Granola

And finally—texture’s final word. Think clusters of honeyed oats, a handful of nuts, a whisper of cinnamon or maple, a pinch of sea salt. Whether you make it yourself or pour it straight from the bag, this is what gives the cheesecake its sparkle. That sweet, nubbly crunch against the silkiness below—it’s like jewelry for dessert.

Here’s how to make it at home:

No-Bake Cheesecake with Ginger-Pear Filling and Granola

Servings: 6–8
Prep time: 30 minutes (+ chilling)
Chill time: 2–3 hours

Ingredients

Crust

• 1 ½ cups Walker’s shortbread, or graham crackers/Biscoff/Nilla Wafers, finely crushed

• 5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
  

Cheesecake Filling

• 16 oz (2 blocks) cream cheese, softened

• ½ cup sour cream

• ½ cup powdered sugar (or to taste)

• 1–2 teaspoons honey (optional, for golden warmth)

• Zest of 1 lemon
  

Ginger-Pear Filling

• 2–3 ripe pears (Bosc, Anjou, or Bartlett), peeled, cored, and diced

• 1–2 tablespoons minced crystallized ginger (or ½ teaspoon ground ginger)

• 2–3 tablespoons sugar

• 1 teaspoon lemon juice

• Optional: 1 tsp cornstarch + 1 tsp water, for quicker thickening

• Alternative: ½ cup good-quality orange marmalade (for weeknight shortcuts)
  

Granola Topping

• ½–¾ cup granola, homemade or store-bought
  

Instructions

1. Make the crust: Pulse your cookies in a food processor until they resemble fine crumbs.Stir in the melted butter until the mixture holds together when pressed. Press the mixture evenly into the bottom of a 9-inch springform pan (or individual serving glasses, if preferred). Chill in the fridge while you prepare the filling.

2. Prepare the cheesecake filling: In a large bowl, beat the cream cheese and sour cream together until smooth and glossy. Add the powdered sugar, honey (if using), and lemon zest; beat just until combined. Taste and adjust sweetness if needed. Spread the filling evenly over the chilled crust and return to the fridge while you make the fruit layer.

3. Cook the ginger-pear filling: In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine the pears, ginger, sugar, and lemon juice. Cook until the pears soften and release their juices, about 10–15 minutes. Optional: If you want a thicker jam quickly, stir in the cornstarch slurry and cook for another 1–2 minutes until glossy and thickened. Remove from heat and let cool slightly before spooning over the cheesecake layer. (Or swap in orange marmalade for a fast weeknight version.)

4. Assemble the cheesecake: Spoon the ginger-pear mixture evenly over the cheesecake filling. Sprinkle granola generously over the top, adding clusters wherever you like for that sweet, nubbly crunch.

5. Chill and serve: Refrigerate the cheesecake for at least 2–3 hours, or until set. Slice carefully and serve with an extra sprinkle of granola if desired.

Hey there! What are your go-to fall baking projects? What do you look forward to mixing up and putting in the oven this season? Scroll up to let us know in the comments, or just send me a quick email at [email protected] — I’m taking notes!

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What to make this week: Dark chocolate granola

If you’re looking for something to scatter on top of this week’s cheesecake — or to simply eat by the handful while standing in front of the fridge, contemplating your life choices — might I suggest D. Watkins’ salt-free dark chocolate granola? It’s a gloriously chunky mix of oats, almonds, pecans and sunflower seeds bound together with olive oil, honey and agave, then laced with just enough melted chocolate to make it feel like a secret dessert. It’s one of those recipes that straddles virtue and vice in perfect balance: nourishing enough to pass for breakfast, indulgent enough to crumble over cheesecake and call it art.

What we’re reading and watching: “The Backyard Bird Chronicles” and “The Chair Company”

In the spirit of noticing the small, luminous things around us, I found myself drawn to “The Backyard Bird Chronicles” by Amy Tan, best known, of course, as the author of “The Joy Luck Club.” Tan began this project in 2016, at a moment when racism against Asians in America was becoming more overt, and she needed a place to rest her mind.

“I turned to the refuge I found as a child: nature, a place of wonderment and the freedom that comes with play and imagination,” she wrote. At 65, she returned to drawing and began taking nature journaling lessons with the naturalist and educator John Muir Laws. Before long, she found herself absorbed in the rich domestic dramas of her backyard birds — juvenile scrub jays squabbling for space, a chestnut-backed chickadee tending to its tiny world with operatic devotion.

What began as an act of self-soothing became, as such projects often do, a study in attention — a reminder that wonder and resilience are often the same muscle, just flexed in different directions. I first cracked the book open on an unseasonably warm October afternoon, sitting at a sidewalk café on Division with a (lightly THC-infused) passionfruit green tea sweating beside me. The traffic was noisy, the light gold and insistent. By the time I looked up, several chapters later, I found myself taking the long way home, ears pricked for birdsong that had likely been there all along.

Then, because people contain multitudes, my next pick is a little antithetical to the serenity it seems I’m attempting to cultivate: “The Chair Company,” the new HBO series starring comedian Tim Robinson. 

Now, I’m aware that his hyper-cringe strain of humor isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, yet if, like me, you’ve already burned through “Detroiters,” “I Think You Should Leave,” his episode of “The Characters” and his A24 debut “Friendship” — this is the show for you. As Salon senior culture critic Melanie McFarland put it, “‘The Chair Company’ is peak Tim Robinson,” which, depending on your proclivities, may sound like a delight or a dare.

And don’t worry — this is a food newsletter, so there is naturally a food tie-in. Keep an eye out for what is essentially Chekhov’s deviled egg in the first episode.

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